


Nothing Else Matters

by jacksgirl217



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Cleon, Cloud Strife/Squall Leonhart - Freeform, Cloud/Leon - Freeform, M/M, Strifehart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksgirl217/pseuds/jacksgirl217
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'There is no pain that could possibly compare to what he has already felt. He feels only a vacant emptiness. A vague, hollow nothingness. He realises that's where Squall should have been. It is the years he has spent without him. Waiting.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Else Matters

A/N: Hello, this is in response to the prompt: Nothing Else Matters. The song just spoke this story to me and so I wrote it. I hope you like.  
I don’t do warnings as they spoil what will happen, but this fic is rated mature so please bear that in mind when reading it. There is nothing explicit but it is pretty angsty. 

Enjoy. X.x.x

Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to Square Enix and/or Disney. No infringement intended, no profit made.

 

Nothing Else Matters

 

‘Never opened myself this way,  
Life is ours; we live it our way,  
All these words, I don’t just say,  
And nothing else matters

Trust I seek and I find in you,  
Every day for us something new,  
Open mind for a different view,  
And nothing else matters.’

 

Metallica – Nothing Else Matters

 

Town hasn’t changed. Five years and nothing has changed. Cloud supposes it will always be like this. Small towns never change readily, and Twilight town is as small and backwater as they come. The evening is cool and balmy. Nothing stirs. The air is still and thick, scented heavily with jasmine and honeysuckle from the gardens that spill out into the back streets and alleyways and Cloud feels as a ghost. Streets and cobbles so familiar to him lead him down paths like shadows in his mind. He could have walked it blindfolded.  
His troubled mind that has been so crowded is now replete, soft waves of nothingness wash over him. Blissful emptiness fills him and he is breathing steadily; he breathes in and out, calming and therapeutic.  
He takes a street that leads him down-hill, its tiny cobbled stones winding backwards and forwards on itself, the rhythm lazy and meandering, suiting Cloud’s frame of mind. Everything is calm. And yet it isn’t. Nothing about his return to his childhood home is simple. Chaos follows him wherever he goes. He feels it lingering on him like smoke; tailing him with menace and promise.  
The winding path evens and opens out into a wide square. Cloud remembers that the market is held here. He turns left and follows a path he knows will lead out of town, the cobbles turning to a dirt track, the hard compressed earth crunching slightly under his feet. He remembers running this path as a child. He remembers a warm summer night like this one, and he remembers a figure. The memory of the figure doesn’t bring a sharp stabbing pain like he expects it to and so he allows his mind to fill in the form, details etched into his memory become clearer like mist parting until a boy only two years older than himself is sharp and clear. The path in his memory is dusty and sun-baked, and he kicks up plumes of dust as he runs hell for leather, pumping his legs hard to reach his friend who is waiting for him, hands on hips, taciturn frown deep. Cloud pays no mind; he knows his friend isn’t mad at him. He always looks like that.  
Adult Cloud stops underneath the tree that was their meeting place, warmth filling his chest as he places his hand against the bark; pen knives once engraved their initials into the same tree. They are still there. C.S carved deeply under S.L.  
The warmth, which flows and then ebbs over him like a shot of whiskey, is edged with the familiar gritty pain that begins to chafe at him. Cloud wondered how long it would be before the sting of their shared memories hit him, and he wonders briefly if he should continue. He knows he will.  
Taking his hand from the trunk of the tree, contact severed, so too do the memories lessen. They retreat briefly and his vision clears. Cloud looks on down the path which ends in a coppice of trees and a gate. Beyond are woods and miles and miles of memories and childhood games, hiding places, camping trips, fishing expeditions and late night meetings. As if stored away in some filing cabinet, Cloud remembers them all, if only fleetingly, like flipping through channels on the T.V.  
Cloud takes a deep breath of the clean air and it soothes him once again. He moves forward, his gaze locked on the gate and the woods beyond, his mind’s eye has found a memory to cling to and unfurl, like peeling apart the petals of a closed flower.  
“You like me right?” Squall asks him, his face earnest and sharp. He’s worried about the answer. “I mean, like in the same way that I like you.” Cloud, a small boy of twelve nods emphatically, eager to please. “Of course. I like you a lot.” And he takes Squall's hand, holding it and squeezing it as they lay on their backs, the roiling clouds overhead making shapes for them. Squall smiles at him. And Cloud can’t help but feel the pull of the earth as he’s tilted toward him, like the feeling of gravity has somehow shifted, and now he must revolve around Squall; his centre.  
Cloud reaches the gate and the memory evaporates. He climbs over it, the ancient wood creaking under his adult weight. His feet hit the ground on the other side and he strikes out towards the woods, the moon light disappearing behind the canopy. Another memory hits him, of another night. How old was he, maybe fifteen?  
His body had trembled not from the cold. Squall's lazy exploration of his naked skin sent shivers through him, a thrill of excitement. They shouldn’t have been doing this. It wasn’t right. That’s what his daddy told him anyways – about men.  
“You can’t tell no one about this.” Squall rasps huskily against his cheek. His breath hot and heavy, goose bumps rising along Cloud’s arms. “This is just for us two. You can’t do it with no one else.” Cloud has no intention of doing it with anyone else. “I won’t.” He promises, his hands running circles over the older boys back, mimicking the patterns that Squall plays over his skin. It feels good. “I’m only doing this cause I want to. I got a girlfriend you know.” Squall suddenly says; his voice indignant, answering a question that Cloud has not asked. Cloud knows about the girlfriend - an unseen, unspoken entity on the periphery of their friendship. Cloud resents her. He doesn’t know why. “I know.” he replies, sullen all of a sudden.  
Cloud shivers, the memory echoing through him as he smiles wanly. That night had been the first of many like it. It was their secret; something only between the two of them - illicit, private and thrilling. Cloud can’t pin point the moment it had turned into something more.  
As he moves through the ravine that leads out into the abandoned quarry, now covered in shrubs and trees, tangles of roots and bushes, Cloud’s skin crawls with memories. This had been their quarry. Now it seems to echo with ghosts.  
Cloud stands and allows the night to penetrate him, to seep into his skin and fill him up with what has been. Squall was here. And he soaks him up too, allowing the feeling to permeate through him. He misses him. That much is still achingly true. And even though everything feels familiar, he is different. He feels like an unwanted intruder in his own private places. He has changed so much. Time, it seems, is full of ambiguity. Has it been that long? Yes, Cloud thinks. It has been so so long. The army has changed him. His father has gotten what he wanted.  
Cloud allows the image of Squall's face to fill his mind and he wraps it around him, the memories a softening balm to his aching heart.  
“Your daddy get to you again?” Squall asks him, tilting his head this way and that to study Cloud’s bruised face. The memory has sprung from nowhere, twisting Cloud’s heart as he remembers the night that sealed their connection.  
“Yeah, bastard is meaner than a bear with a sore head.” Cloud replies removing his chin from Squall’s grip, avoiding flashing eyes he knows will be angry and rubs the back of his head - the spot where the wall made contact and made a bump. He thinks he’ll be seeing stars for a week. “You gotta learn to stay outta his way.” Squall offers, turning to walk to their campsite. Cloud follows dejectedly. He knows how to deal with his own daddy, the old drunk has had enough practice and Cloud is a quick study. They sit and build a fire, sit back and kick off their boots, watch the stars as the night moves on. Without warning Squall rises himself up onto his elbow and kisses Cloud, his hands moving to undress the younger boy with a surety that only practice can bring. With an urgency that Cloud has not noticed before. Cloud allows him. He allows the soft touches and feather light kisses and he allows Squall to take him in his mouth. He allows everything, his heart pounding maddeningly against his ribcage as Squall works his way inside him. He remembers thinking that they haven’t done that before. He likes it thought and he tells Squall so. Squall just smiles coyly and kisses him again. “I like it when it’s just us two.” Squall says lazily, his voice soft and deep in the quiet of night. Their fire has burned low and their naked bodies are cooling in the moist heat of the night. “It’s simple. Just me and you. We can do this and nothing else matters.” Cloud has to agree. There is no more mention of the girlfriend and Cloud knows it’s just them now. Only the two of them against the world.  
That memory passes softly over Cloud and he comes back to himself. The night has deepened and the sky is inky black. The moon is bright and complete. Everything is still.  
“You came back.”  
The voice is thick and solid, distinctively male and adult, yet so painfully familiar, it’s like it almost physically wounds Cloud. He is left breathless for a few seconds, his heart frozen before it pounds back into painful life. Cloud is gasping quietly; his eyes bright and wide as he turns a slow circle. This voice is not from his memory, and he can’t pretend so. This voice is real and right behind him.  
He turns to see a man. Tall and dark, the figure steps closer, same taciturn frown, same piercing eyes. The image sends a bolt through Cloud. He hadn’t expected to see him so soon.  
“I told you I would.” Cloud rasps out.  
“You promised.” Squall nods his head, remembering.  
Silence stretches out between them, endless and vast. Cloud can feel the weight of it pressing him back. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. He doesn’t know.  
Squall walks towards him, his long strides eating up the distance in slow easy steps. In a few terrifying blinks, he’s in front of Cloud, his presence heavy and male and intoxicating – exactly how Cloud remembers him, even if his hair has grown out. His face is older too. He is sharper, jaw squarer, eyes harder. But he’s Squall and Cloud has to remember just to breathe.  
Cloud is trembling, he knows Squall can tell and he’s ashamed.  
“I missed you.” Squall whispers. The confession is so unexpected. So like Squall. Cloud lets out the breath he has been holding, it’s shaky and full of all the things he is feeling. He has no words. Not for this.  
Squall kisses him. All of a sudden his arms are full of the older man and it’s been so long. It’s been years since he’s felt this simple pleasure. Being kissed. Desire. Heat filling his belly like he remembers it. Squall does this to him. This is what passion feels like. He had nearly forgotten. He kisses back, fingers digging deeply into Squall’s longer hair, pulling, tugging fiercely because he cannot get enough. He doesn’t realise he is letting out soft moans of contentment and when he opens his eyes and pulls away they are on their knees.  
“I waited for you.”  
The words cause a lump in Cloud’s throat. He realises that through it all, Squall has remained loyal to him, has believed in him. He has remained his. “All this time?” he croaks, unbelieving. Squall responds with a kiss, so achingly familiar, Cloud is reminded of every single time Squall has kissed him. Years of stolen moments fill his mind.  
When they pull away, Cloud is whispering apologies. He is sorry, so very sorry. Once the flood gates are open there is no shutting them and he grips hard to the front of Squall’s jacket, forehead braced against the older man’s as he breathes out his sorrow. His remorse.  
Another memory fills his mind and it’s so painful he can hardly breathe.  
“What we feel, it ain’t normal is it?” Cloud whispers against Squall's neck. His throat is dry and scratchy and his lips are hot from kissing so much, he can feel Squall frowning. “What makes you say that?”  
“If it were normal, we wouldn’t have to hide.” Cloud points out. He nuzzles the neck, nose bumping against an adams apple. Squall is a man now and Cloud isn’t far behind, nearly eighteen. “No one knows what normal is.” Squall responds after a few moments. His voice is tight.  
“Aren’t you ever afraid?” Cloud asks him, sitting up and gazing down at his lover splayed out on the pile of straw. They have found a few moments they can steal in his father’s barn. Squall stares up at him, eyes filled with emotion that Cloud can’t even begin to understand. The older man reaches up and cups his cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth. “I’m afraid.” he admits, nodding his head gently. “I’m afraid of what they’ll do if they find out. I’m afraid of losing you.” Cloud frowns at this, as if he’s never considered it before. “You wouldn’t ever lose me.” he says; voice light as if it’s a stupid suggestion. Squall’s eyes fill with pain at Cloud’s innocence.  
Cloud remembers the shadow that fell of over them then, the images of his dad finding them. He remembers the fight, his fear as Squall is slashed across the face, the blood. He remembers the pain of the beating his daddy gives him. Not the first one, but certainly the worst. He remembers the hate he sees in his father’s eyes and the fear he sees in Squall's. He remembers the savage poisonous words, and he remembers how he feels when he realises it’s all over.  
Cloud’s mind leaps forward to the night before he’s sent away, locked in his room he is surprised and horror filled to find Squall outside his window. Cloud knows if he’s found, he won’t escape so lightly. Squall's bandaged face is bright in the moonlight and Cloud is filled with pain all over again. His daddy did that. “I’ll wait for you.” Squall promises. Cloud’s heart breaks. Doesn’t he realise it’s already over? “I won’t lose you, Cloud. I’ll wait for you.” he reasserts when Cloud doesn’t reply. Cloud can’t reply. His throat won’t work, his heart is too heavy. They’ve already won. “Promise me, you’ll come back!” and Squall’s voice is so desperate, so filled with pain that Cloud can’t stand it. He forces down the sob and promises him. He’ll come back.  
The memories recede again and Cloud is back in the quarry with Squall. The night is deep and black and warm and secretive, just the way he remembers it’s always been. He is shaking but he has Squall and that is enough, it grounds him and calms him – like breathing. He thinks being with Squall is like breathing. He looks up, bringing a shaking hand up to trace the scar that cuts across Squall’s face. The older man grips his hands, pulling them away. “Don’t.” he whispers, not wanting to get into all that now.  
“I’m sorry.” Cloud whispers anyway. Squall shakes his head, brows knit with concern and love. “It’s done with. He’s gone.”  
And Cloud feels no pain at the mention of his father’s passing. There is no pain that could possibly compare to what he has already felt. He feels only a vacant emptiness. A vague, hollow nothingness. He realises that’s where Squall should have been. It is the years he has spent without him. Waiting.  
“Come on.” Squall tugs at his wrists and pulls him to his feet. Cloud follows, blindly walking, being led to wherever Squall wants to take him. They stop in front of a small farm on the outside of town, the barn is burnt down, only a pile of charred timbers and brickwork remains. The house itself is small, the porch that runs around the outside strewn with weeds and climbers.  
“You live here?” Cloud asks forlornly, knowing in his heart that he does. Squall pulls the front door open, and leads Cloud into his house, leads him to his bedroom and all at once it is like no time has passed between them at all. Squall makes love to him as he used to. Unhurried and softly, and Cloud thinks he might not be able to stand it. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s the coward after all; he is the one that ran away. As Squall moves tenderly above him, Cloud thinks of all that he must have endured to stay here and wait for him. His mind moves to the burnt down barn and the dilapidated farm that should have been thriving. He thinks of how lonely he must have been - how lonely they have both been.  
He grips harder to the yielding body above him as he nears his climax, small beads of sweat have formed on their skin and they are slick with it as Squall laps as Cloud’s neck. He watches as Squall pulls back, watches the gentle flush rise on his high cheek bones and along his beautifully arched body as he rocks them closer to completion. They reach it together; unable to hold out any longer.  
Squall collapses against Cloud, running fingers through sweat tangled hair and pressing his flaming face against creamy cheeks and kisses plump, swollen lips. “I love you.” he whispers and Cloud breaks. He shakes his head as the silent tears fall and he whispers a small sorry.  
“Don’t keep saying that.” Squall demands of him, gently, like he does everything else. “Tell me you love me.” He caresses Cloud’s face, their noses bumping as he lays feather light kisses against trembling lips that taste salty and moist. And Cloud, who has done everything that Squall has ever asked of him since the day they first met, replies, his voice hoarse and broken, his heart a hoard of sorrow and regret and love and pain. “I love you.” and he repeats it again and again in soft ululating whispers until they are both too tired to speak or to listen.  
They rest and they sleep and nothing else matters.


End file.
